Roman's Revenge
by Crayola Hearts
Summary: Revenge was a sweetness she couldn't be denied.


**Note: **So, I rewrote this. It was going to be longer, but if I did that, I'd be a massive chapter, and nobody wants to read a massive chapter, so I cut it short.

Reviews are appreciated.

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 1: Something Left To Hide<strong>_

_"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves." - Henry David Thoreau_

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><p>She felt like she was braving a labyrinth without a lifeline, turning corners and taking risks - finding her way through the dark by simply groping. No matter where she turned, it never seemed to end. One path turned to another, often ending abruptly before she was forced to backtrack and find another.<p>

There was some sort of pattern whose sequence she had yet to discover - that there was a logic to it all, and if she kept trying, kept pushing forward, she'd eventually figure it out, for everything had a pattern and every problem had a solution - but there were time when she wondered if that were truly the case. If it was, then theoretically, she should have found a solution by now. But she hadn't, and the absence of such was beginning to frustrate her.

Whether she refused to relent in her search for the answer or not, she couldn't deny her current predicament; she was running in circles.

She was not lost, she just hadn't found the right path.

Or so she liked to believe.

For both amounted to the same thing.

And as the days melded into years, she couldn't help but wonder just what she was doing. In the beginning, she thought she'd turned down the right path when she abandoned her former commitment and came to the island for refuge, but now she was beginning to question if her decision was the right one; she'd gotten nowhere in the past five years - if anything, she felt like she'd gotten further from the answers she sought.

There was nothing for her on that island, no reason to stay aside from the man who had taken her under his wing, but he wasn't going to be around for ever. In fact, though she was not a doctor, and didn't claim to be such, it was obvious his life force was dwindling away. What was she to do after he was gone?

She had nowhere else to go.

The thought struck a nerve as she clutched the strap of her messenger bag. It wasn't a subject she liked to dwell on, but it was one she couldn't ignore forever. She'd have to come to terms with it some day, though she intended to prolong it for as long as possible. Such negative thoughts would only drag her down, and in the past years, she'd finally managed to climb out of her rut; she was not about to let herself fall into it once more.

Snow blanketed the ground, turning the island into a wonderland of white. Such a thing wasn't uncommon, given that it was a winter island, but during the warmer parts of the year, the snow melted away, though never completely; there was always the odd patch here or there. The night prior marked the transitions in seasons and the drastic drop in temperature had indicated as much before she'd left her home.

The island's inhabitants were much more accustom to the cold than she was. Naturally, when an entire race spent centuries living among the harsh and unforgivable land of Tundra, they would find a way to adapt. Their bodies were built to withstand the cold, particularly the cold sea that surrounded the island. Though short and stout in size, they were considerably talented swimmers and prefered to hunt their food though such methods, though there were occasions when they made use of fishing vessels.

They had a very tribalistic lifestyle, one not often seen with the changing times, but they preferred it that way. The simplicity they reveled in made for strong society. While help was not turned away or completely unoffered, the people of Tundra were considerably independent. Even those of the Chief's circle and the Chief himself worked for their own food and clothing. There was no such thing as one living in peace while others suffered, there was no such thing as passing out to the needy.

To one who had never seen their customs first hand, it seemed like the perfect society, but just as every government, it had it's flaws. The leading roles were all gained through inheritance, which left no room for change. Duty was of the utmost importance to them, and those who refused the role they were born into were shunned. They were also firm believers in strength and honor - a tribe of warriors. While the women weren't seen as weak and defenseless, they were still considered to be slightly lesser than the men, and more often than not, they were forced to to have to fight to earn their respect; all of them did regardless of gender, but the women had to fight harder still.

And she was no exception to this rule.

In fact, it was even more difficult for her. She was not originally from their land, nor was she raised as a warrior - even the weaker of them could take her down with ease. No, she had won her respect through other means - she'd shown them the bounds of her courage and perseverance. She refused to be moved, no matter what they threw her way, nor did she forget her respect. While she was used to taking orders, it didn't mean that she enjoyed it, and more often than not, she had to fight herself to obey when the chief told her to do something. In the beginning, he'd been considerably hard on her, but as the years passed, he'd softened up a bit - he'd even come to like her.

As she passed through the village, she noted the tension in the air.

They were usually a lively bunch, often seen sitting around fires drinking and roasting their day's catch, laughing loudly and brashly even late into the night. There would be other groups who would play music and other's who'd dance along. There was hardly ever a dull moment among them.

But today was different. Instead of making merry, they were sitting about with gloomy expressions. Most of them didn't bother to look up as she passed, and those who did met her eyes with a solemn expression. One of them had tears in his eyes.

She felt her heart clench at the sight. It was uncommon for them to show that sort of emotion; it was reserved for occasions only as grave as death. Her blood seemed to run cold, and for a moment, all she could do was stand in the middle of the path. The hand that gripped the strap of her bag began to shake. Suddenly she could move again, though it was not because of ease; it was desperation.

With one last look at the man, she took off down the street. She pushed past people without apology, completely ignoring the surprised shouts and curses that followed after her. She didn't even hear them. The worst possible scenario played over and over in her mind, and it took every ounce of self control she could muster to keep the oncoming panic attack at bay.

You're over reacting, she told herself as she rounded a corner. It's got to be someone else. When you get there, everything's going to be fine.

But everything was not fine. She knew from the bottom of her heart that it wasn't. She knew that telling herself otherwise was a lie, but she refused to believe such.

As she turned another corner, she felt her stomach flip. There was a crowd of huddled around the hut she and her adoptive father shared. Beyond them, she could see the Chief coming down from the rise his own hut was built upon. Just as those she'd passed on her way, his face was grave and solemn.

She swallowed thickly and pushed forward.

Getting through the crowd was not an easy task. Many of them didn't want to move, nor did they take kindly to her pushing. One in particular, a man with curly red hair and a nasty scar that ran over the bridge of his nose, refused to move. She'd never liked him, nor did he like her, and most days she wouldn't have had it any other way. Today, however, she wished he was drop the arrogance and let her aside. Of course, that would be asking for too much.

She attempted to move him by force, but she might as well have been trying to push a brick wall. Seeing that he wasn't going to move no matter how hard she tried, she attempted to go around and slip past another, but he stepped back until he was blocking her path.

"Droy, will ya just let her through," someone said in exasperation.

"No."

None of them bothered to fight him on it. Droy was known throughout the village for being ridiculously headstrong - the word stubborn didn't even begin to describe him.

She grit her teeth. "For once in your life will you get the hell out of my way?"

Dory turned to her, his face set in a nasty scowl. "No. You ain't gettin' in that house. I don't care what relationship ya have with 'im, but you ain't one of us. You have no business bein' here right now. Go sit on the streets with the rest of the idiots."

Physical violence was something she tried to avoid if at all possible, but at that moment, after being told she wasn't allowed to enter the house, something snapped within her. She clenched her fist tightly and drew back, fully intent on swinging as hard as she could.

"Droy. Let her through."

It was the Chief who'd spoken.

Droy's scowl deepened, though he did as he was told. He may have been headstrong, but he knew when to back down - and when the Chief said move, you moved. Had the circumstances been different, she would have met his scowl with a smug grin, but now was not the time for such antics. The rest of the group parted as she made her way to the door.

The inside of the hut was dimly lit. The skylight at the top had been covered and a small arrangement of candles at the table beside one of the two beds offered the little bit of light. There were three people inside, aside from her; the two doctors and her adoptive parent.

Adoptive parent wasn't the correct term for it; she was already in her mid twenties and had been more than old enough to take care of herself when she'd arrived, but over the years she'd spent with him on this island, he'd become a sort of father to her, more so than her real one had ever been. To her, he was worthy of such a title.

"He's gone."

The words hit hard, as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She wasn't sure how to react; whether to fall to the floor in a mess of tears or to stay as she was, completely still and blank faced with her gaze locked onto the motionless body lain on the bed. Should she turn and run, or should she go to the bedside?

She didn't know what to do.

A few moments past, and to her they felt like hours, stretched and distorted. She felt cold, numb even, and despite the racing of her heart and the tears that welled up at the edge of her eyes, she felt unnaturally calm. It was not the first time she'd witnessed death, but this time it was different. While she felt a part of her missing, she couldn't find it in herself to throw herself to the floor in hysterics.

No - he wouldn't have liked that. The old man had been kind, but he was still a warrior at heart, and such an act would be seen as disrespectful. She swallowed whatever feeling that was creeping into her being. She suppressed everything and forced herself to remain stoic.

There was a rough hand on her shoulder. It gave a gentle squeeze, no doubt meant in comfort, but she barely felt it. She didn't even acknowledge his presence as he stepped past her, muttering a prayer in a language she didn't understand. Exhaling heavily, she closed her eyes.

Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe when she opened her eyes again, she'd be standing in the the middle of the hut with no doctors, no Chief, just her adoptive father sitting in his usual place whittling away at whatever carving he'd decided to work on and humming whatever tune the fiddlers had been playing hours before. When she opened her eyes, everything would be back to the way it was.

It was only a dream after all.

But it wasn't a dream. She knew it well. It was real as the chilled air against her skin - as real as the beating in her chest. It was a reality she didn't want to acknowledge.

When she opened her eyes, there had been changes, though not the ones she wished for. The body had been moved and the doctors gone with it. The Chief began blowing the candles out. Before he doused the last one, he turned to glance at her. "I need to speak with you before the funeral."

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><p>The Chief's hut was no different from the rest of the huts in town; it was just a tad bit bigger. He'd ordered his circle to assist with the preparations, leaving the two of them to converse in peace.<p>

"This isn't a good time to tell you this, but given the circumstances, I believe it's best that you know."

Where there would have been curiosity, there was nothing but cold emptiness. She stared blankly at the man before her and took a sip of her drink. It was obvious from her current state of mind that she has no interest in what he was talking about, not that he could blame her. With a heavy sigh, he continued.

"We were contacted by the Marines earlier this morning. Apparently they're looking for someone." The Chief met her eyes. "While I know the circumstances of your arrival, I don't know anything about your life prior to coming to our land, nor do I know who it is the Marines are looking for. "

"Then why are you telling me this?" Her words were hollow. Despite this, her brows rose ever so slightly. Even as emotionally compromised as she was, she couldn't hide her shock.

"Just in case it has something to do with you." The Chief continued, noting the slight change in her expression. " As I said, I don't know anything about you before you arrived here."

Her gaze narrowed, and the emptiness in her eyes was replaced with a flash of ferocity. "Are you implying that they're coming here because of me? "

He refilled his glass with a sigh. "I don't know who they're here for, nor am I implying anything. I'm merely warning you should you be the one they're searching for."

For a long moment, they sat in silence. She regarded him coldly as her fingers drummed against the crudely made pine table before her. It didn't take a genius to know she was working things out in her head; the suspicious glint her eyes said it all.

"My question is why come here? Why would they come to this island, so far from HQ and nearly in the Calm Belt, to turn around and head back?" Her words were harsh, and the Chief didn't miss the accusation. "They wouldn't. Which means you, or someone, must have told them something."

The Chief snorted. "I had a feeling it was you they were looking for, but I didn't tell them anything. In fact, I told them that there was no one unusual here; I told them that it'd be a waste of time to check this island."

Her gaze didn't falter. She didn't believe him, not entirely. His words didn't match the current predicament; it was as she said, there was no point in coming to the island if there was nothing to be found.

There was a knock as the door to the hut opened and one of the circle members stepped in. ""Cuse the interruption, Chief, but the preparations are done."

"Right," the Chief sighed. "Well, in the mean time, begin rounding everyone up. I'd like to get this done as soon as possible."

The man nodded. Just as he turned to leave, his face twisted in a look of confusion. "And not meaning to cut into a conversation that didn't concern me, but I heard Droy on the Den Den Mushi right after you got off. I think he might have told them she was here."

The glass in her hand cracked beneath the pressure. She should have known. She really should have.

The Chief cursed under his breath. "Get the funeral underway."

"Yes, Chief," the man said before disappearing once more.

"That bastard." Roman seethed. The glass continued to crack beneath her grasp, and it would have shattered if the Chief hadn't taken it from her.

"It's unfortunate," he muttered. "Granted, I have no reason to help you, but seeing as how Bard asked me to when I told him about the this morning, I will."

Roman glared at him. "And how do you expect to do that? I can tell you right now that there's going to be more than one ship com-"

"Chief, we have a problem! There's four Marine ships coming in on the east, and there's been reports of a pirate ship that's landed on the west side." The villager who'd come to deliver the news was out to breath, as if he had run from across the island himself. "The pirates claim to hold no hostility towards us, but the Marines are demanding Roman! They're threatening to open fire!"

A low curse escaped her lips. Of course they would have no sense of diplomacy. She'd always found them too quick to release canon fire.

"Tell the men to prepare to a fight, and make sure Droy's at the front line." The Chief commanded. "In the meantime, I'll think of what to do with Roman before I join. As Bard's final wish, I refuse to give her to the Marines."

The villager nodded and hurried to do as he was ordered.

The Chief turned to her then. "Hurry, Roman. Run to-"

"Like hell I'm running!" Roman snapped. She was on her feet within seconds, throwing her chair back. It hit the floor with a loud clatter. "The Marines are after me! I'm not going to let them die just so I can escape."

"And I'm not letting you get caught." He said harshly. Ignoring her protest, he roughly shoved her towards the door. . "While you are not a part of the tribe, you are on my island. Therefore, you will listen to me. I want you to run to the south side of the island. I don't care if you take one of the fishing boats or sneak onto the pirates' ship, just get off this island."

"Chief, there's a fifth ship that's landed in the north. The Marines are on the island."

"Go!" the Chief growled as with one final shove. "If you linger here and get caught, then anyone who dies during this fight will have died in vain!"

That seemed to be the push she needed.

Granted, she wouldn't have minded if Droy died, but the others had never given her a reason to wish such a thing. They were hard on her in the beginning, yes, but it was nothing personal; it was just how they were - and it was something her adoptive father wanted. As much as she hated the idea of running, not when so many lives were endangered, if it was Bard's last wish, then she'd do it.

The village was in chaos as she tore through the streets. None of them said anything to her; they weren't even paying attention - they had a single thing on their mind and that was to fight. Anything else meant nothing to them.

Before long, the village gave way to open the open land of the tundra. The island was small, small enough that she could see the pirate ship the villager had been talking about. It was beached just a ways away from the other Marine ship.

Six ships. They'd sent an entire fleet after her.

Escaping by means of the fishing vessel wasn't going to happen - escape in general was not looking well. There was the option of jumping onto the pirates' ship, but that was quickly dismissed. Pirates were wanted by the Marines as well; she only be put in the same predicament once more,and this time it would be with a group of people who would most likely sell her out to save their asses. It was a risk that was not worth taking.

She was stuck.

She should have known that there wasn't anywhere safe for her, especially not in the Grand Line where the majority of the Marines' attention was focused. Her feeling had been correct; she had taken the wrong path, and once more she was forced to backtrack. Only this time, she didn't know what to do. All the paths seemed to be blocked -

She was backed into a corner and she couldn't find the exit.

Franticly, she turned in every possible direction, desperately searching for something to hide herself in. Most of the trees on the island had been cut down for housing or fire, not that there had been many to begin with; the island was mostly a plain of snow and ice.

There was nowhere to hide.

Her hands clutched at the bag at her side; she never went anywhere without it, nor did she take out its contents. It eliminated the need to return to the village, though other than that, it didn't help her predicament in any way. The bag wasn't going to give her wings; it wasn't going to get her off the island.

She was lost - completely and utterly lost.

There was no way to discern which way she should go, as if someone had shut off the lights and thrown her into the unknown. There was nothing to grab onto, nothing to use as support, nothing but endless black and seemed to suffocate her, swallow her whole, as she found herself going astray. There was no exit, there was no light.

She was scared.

For the first time in years she was genuinely scared. She usually adapted easily, she usually handed difficult situations with ease. Even as a child she never needed anyone's hand to guide her, she just strove through it all with her head held high and her shoulders squared. The word fear had never been one she understood.

But she understood it now. It was a raw feeling, one that lodged itself deep inside her. It was cold, so very cold, and it seemed to freeze every fiber of her being. She weak, so vulnerable - so _small_. The gravity of the situation had finally come crashing down on her; people were risking dying because of her. Had she not been there, none of this would have happened - had she just done was she was told, went against her principles, the whole situation could have been avoided.

Maybe then she wouldn't be standing in the middle of a frozen island with a platoon of Marines rushing straight for her.


End file.
